


The Dawn Will Come

by Queen-of-Forgotten (Queen_of_Forgotten), Queen_of_Forgotten



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Amnesia, F/M, Lyrium Addiction, Mages, Red Templars, Templars
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-10
Updated: 2017-05-24
Packaged: 2018-10-30 03:22:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10868013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Queen_of_Forgotten/pseuds/Queen-of-Forgotten, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Queen_of_Forgotten/pseuds/Queen_of_Forgotten
Summary: [Cullen x Reader] | Currently happening: Several months have passed, Coryphaeus has attacked Haven, and everyone has retreated to Skyhold thanks to Solas. The Reader has gotten a job in the stables, grooming horses and general stable hand work; learns to braid with Solas, and meets the Inquisitor. She joins the Inquisitor on a ride, which takes them to the Hinterlands with Dorian, Cole and the Iron Bull. Commander Cullen explains he requires the Reader to write reports to him about the day’s activities before they leave for the Hinterlands.





	1. "Darkness falls,"

**Author's Note:**

> [Each chapter shares the name of a line of the song "The Dawn Will Come"]

[Name] stumbled as she tore through the brushes alongside the path. They ripped at her pants, tugged at her shirt and scratched her armour plates. Her hair was tangled with the vines that hung from trees in the province prior. She wouldn't stop, she couldn't stop. She heard the hum of the Chant of Light, the light of a Chantry sitting atop a hill as a vigil was conducted.

The shining light, a beacon of hope. A place to call a safe haven.

Her feet sounded louder in the snow as she crunched through the thickest sleet she had ever encountered, the sound of her pursuers boots crashing into the twigs she had let fall reminding her how close they were. Constantly gaining, never giving. It was nearly impossible to out-manoeuvre them. They chased her, eyes filled with the sickening red that had once clouded her vision too, had it not been for Her.

The song from the Chantry had stopped, and the doors opened wide, people in farmers clothing and mercenary uniforms beginning to filter out. 'What a lovely service,' several people said. 'It was a pity that the Herald was out on her missions, she would've enjoyed the Chant of Light tonight.' They descended the stairs, before a few of the Templars among them took note of the approaching newcomers.

'Halt!' One cried, reaching for his sword and shield. Two others followed suit. 'In the name of the Maker, I order you to halt!'

It was no use, [Name] had run too long to stop now, to give these chasers a chance to lop her head off. She pushed on, harder and more painfully as she adjusted course to slip between the Templars. She caused them to pause for a moment before they realized they had armed warrior's incoming, with weapons drawn and shields risen. 'Out of our way,' they all slurred, four of them in total.

They wore the same uniform, only, her pursuers were caked in a fine red powder, crystals sprouting from their shoulder plates. Were they also Templars? Why would the Templars be chasing her? Why did they treat their weapons so differently?

[Name] dove onto the snow just in front of the stairs to the Chantry's court yard. She wheezed for breath and reached her arms out, attempting to pull herself to the stairs to at least crawl up them, to the warmth the Chantry emitted.

'Men! Get to Commander Cullen and bring him to arms! Sister Leliana too!' The non-powdered Templars called as their swords clashed.

Two men froze at the top of the stairwell, eyes down to [Name] and her struggling form, before spinning on their heels and making it back to the Chantry. 'Commander! Sister! We're being invaded by the Red Templar Knights!' Their voices echoed from within the Chantry, cries of fear rising out of the commonfolk who had not made it to the stairs.

There was a thundering in the ground, all the commonfolk attempting to make it back into the safety of the Chantry. The content whispers had stopped, praises of the Chant of Light forgotten as they feared for their lives.

[Name] didn't know what the Red Templar Knights were, nor did she particularly care by that point in time, as she managed to find her way to her knees and began ascending the stairs. She did not get far before the fourth Red Templar Knight had managed to evade the three defending Templars, and wrested control over her ankle. She kicked at him, clawing at the stairs for some sort of grip to keep herself going, to keep her away from him. 'Unhand me!' She screeched, breathlessly shovelling dirt and snow off the stairs in her attempts to remain grounded.

The Knight lifted her ankle, [Name] coming to dangle in the air as she squirmed to be released. It was no use, he was much stronger than her, menacing even as he shook her a little with his laughter and drew his sword. Once fully drawn, he reached it around to press against the back of her neck, the prickle of the sharp blade causing her to whimper. 'You cannot run from Corypheus,' he drawled. 'No one will know.'

As he began to press the blade more firmly into her neck, [Name] heard the distinct sound of an arrow being let loose, followed by the thick _shunk_ of the point piercing metal and lodging itself into place. The Knight's blade was the first to drop, [Name] suspended a mere few moments more, enough to see the man and woman running to her aid from the Chantry's path.

When she dropped, her head collided with the stone stair, her vision blearing red for a moment, before her world faded into the black abyss of the Fade.

'Go, Cullen, take her into the Chantry, Mother Giselle should have a spare bed.'

'To arms, Leliana.'

\-------------------------------------------------------

As she opened her eyes to the faint glow of embers in the fireplace, [Name] couldn't recall what had happened to allow her such a soft place to rest. She laid there, basking in the unfamiliar warmth, softness of the mattress and tender feel of the blanket that laid on her. She wasn't used to such luxuries. The pillow, though, had really won her over to whoever had decided to place her there.

It was warm and fluffy, smelling of polish and well-worn leather. She didn't understand why the feather was feathered though, but she wasn't about to complain to whoever was loaning it to her. She buried her nose into it, taking in the masculine scent of a solider.

Whoever it belonged to, she would have to thank and learn how they managed to get such a nice smell to stick to their clothing. She might have to try it – it smelled of home, to her. Something that was hard come by.

She cast her eyes around the room, watching as she came to learn it was actually a tent she was in. The flap was flickering ever so slightly, explaining why the fireplace, small and well covered with non-flammables, was running so lowly. Outside, more snow was filtering down and there was the distinct sound of clashing swords and grunts of men training fiercely. She made a move to roll from the bed, which she had found to be a cot with a mattress tied to it to ensure that it would lie flat.

She also found that she was bare beneath the sheets – however she found this out too late as she landed in the melting snow on the ground beneath the cot. She let out a sharp gasp, tangling herself in the blanket quickly as she jumped to her feet, pillow falling – revealing itself to be a coat – to land on her head and drape around it like a cowl. She stumbled a little, the smell now coming to overcome her a bit as she let out a little whimper.

'Well,' came a masculine voice from the tent flap. 'Seeing the maiden wandering in my bedsheets and robe aren't exactly what I was expecting to see when I loaned the Revered Mother my tent.'

When [Name] bobbed her head enough to move the mass of feathers from her vision, she was surprised to see a man wearing a suit of armour. His hands were resting on the hilt of his sword, which was strapped to his hip. He was standing tall, not the slightest slouch, but his head was dusted lightly with fresh snow that had not melted yet. 'This i-is your tent?'

He hummed in response, nodding. 'Aye, 'tis mine.' He replied.

'This pillow, coat thing?'

'Also mine,' he chuckled. 'It's a robe, not a pillow.'

'Makes a pretty good pillow,' [Name] commented, hugging the bedsheet closer against her naked body. 'Aside from this awkward counter, good sir,'

'Good sir? By the Maker you were raised proper,' he watched her a moment longer before he strode into the tent and secured the flap behind him, keeping more cold air and new snow from entering. He approached the fire, grabbing a poker staff from the table and beginning to lightly stab at the fire, stoking it into more life. 'My name is Cullen Rutherford, Commander of the Inquisition.' He introduced himself, sticking the staff into the ground by the fire as he turned to face her again. 'And you are?'

'[Name],' she replied. '[Name]...something rather, runaway of one of the many mercenary groups.' She frowned when she saw his hand tighten on his sword's hilt. She shuffled a little, before she sat back down on the cot and folded her legs in a criss-cross. Her bare knees jutted out the edges of the fabric, exposed to the cold air. They were a relief to be out in the cold air, compared to the hot warmth that her body was producing. 'Don't worry – my band won't come after your camp, they're long since dead because of those four who gave chase last night.'

'Do you know why they were after you? The Red Templar Knights, I mean.'

She shook her head. 'No, I didn't know they were even Templars.' She admitted.

Commander Cullen seemed a little more at ease, still tense in [Name]'s presence. 'The Herald will have to decide your ultimate fate, but until then, I suppose you're in our hands.' He said firmly, ensuring there was no room for debate as he leaned over and picked up a small sack. 'This is the clothes the Revered Mother has sourced for you from within the encampment. I'll go see if I can find her while you dress yourself. If you need anything before I return, there is a solider just a few feet from the tent. Call to him, and he should aid you.'

[Name] nodded quietly, watching as he placed the sack on the bed's foot, glanced at her with his robe on her head and made his way for the flap, untying it so he could get out and secure it behind him. She shuffled over to him, taking the robe from her head. 'Commander, I believe this is yours. It would suit you better, it doesn't make a very nice cowl.' She said.

His lip quirked into a smile slightly, chuckling faintly as he took a hold of it. 'Perhaps you should use it for the day. It is rather cold here, and you're still turning a little blue. Return it to me tomorrow, when you're more accustomed to the climate.' He draped it over her shoulders again, before he left the tent, securing it behind him and walking off towards the Chantry building.

The woman looked down to the fabric that covered her shoulders, before shrugging warmly and returning to the clothing that hid in the sack. She fumbled with the drawstring for a moment, before it fell open, revealing a long beige skirt and a white, corseted blouse. There were small clothes inside as well, thankfully, but it didn't make [Name] very happy to be wearing such loose clothing, such womanly clothing. She'd have rather worn pants, a shirt and a suit of armour, but she was intruding on the encampment, so she would have to play by their rules for a time.

Soon enough, she was dressed, minus the back of the corset. She couldn't reach it, so it was loosely tied. Thankfully, however, she had the commander's coat to cover it with. [Name] emerged from the tent, coming to terms with the blinding light of the sun reflecting off the snow. The sound of swords clashing was more prominent now, as well as the shouts of many soldiers.

'Come on, men!' One of the watching guards shouted. 'The Darkspawn won't fight like little women!'

'Aye, Captain!' The training soldiers replied, beginning to hit each other harder with their weapons. The swords were blunted, [Name] noticed, but still sharp enough to leave scratches on the armour.

She began to make her way towards the looming Chantry building, slipping past guards as they patrolled the walk ways. She didn't' feel the need to inform the guard near the tent that she was leaving – the camp seemed small enough to assume where she would be going. [Name] leaned on the great doors leading into the Chantry, forcing the smaller cut out door to open with some effort.

It creaked open, and soon the smell of sweet Embrium incense was wafting out of the building, the warmth that was contained within the brick walls welcoming [Name] happily as she closed the wooden door behind her. It was toasty warm, the faint song of the Sister's reverberating through the walls as they praised the statues of Andraste that lined the pillars.

'Maker preserve us,'

'By His hand we are not worthy of the Black City.'

[Name] rolled her eyes at the fanatical Sisters who knelt before the closest pillar, foreheads on the ground. She considered herself somewhat faithful, but not nearly enough to give a damn about the Black City or the Maker's judgement. She made her way down the red rug that lined the centre of the room. She shuffled onwards, passing the Sisters who sang, who prayed, who simply bowed their heads silently. She wouldn't disturb them, not after what had happened so recently at Conclave. That much [Name] could remember of her recent life.

'We need to get a message to the Herald as soon as possible,' the accent was Antivan, a woman's dainty voice that was thick with nobility and political knowledge. 'She will want to know that we've had someone intrude on us.'

'Don't rush into this head first, Josephine.' Another woman's voice slipped from under the door, Ferelden and light weight, innocent even. The voice grew closer, but there were no footsteps, alluding that the owner of the voice was lightweight, or specialized in stealth. 'Besides, the Herald is in the midst of negotiations with the mages. We cannot risk disrupting her chances with the Arl.'

The next was Commander Cullen, putting [Name] at ease, now knowing at least one person in the room opposite the door. 'I received word from the Herald about the Arl a few hours ago – the Arl is no longer in control of Redcliffe, a Tevinter Magister, named Alexius, is in control. He has the mages under his power, and the Herald mentioned an Tevinter Necomancer was aiding her in convincing him to release the mages to our aid.'

'Arl Tegan would not hand over Redcliffe to a Tevinter Magister so easily!' The Antivan replied quickly, her voice distant, from the far side of the room. [Name] assumed she was Josephine, from how the Ferelden woman had spoken. She sounded as if she came from a line of nobility, but [Name] couldn't be sure until she spoke directly to her, or saw her at least.

'Calm down, Josephine.' Commander Cullen replied, walking towards the door, his voice growing closer. 'The Herald says that the Magister used the rifts to manipulate time enough for him to come into control.' His voice stopped approaching, but there was a quiet creak of weight being pushed onto something – she assumed he was leaning over something, perhaps a desk. 'Cassandra says they can trust the necromancer for now, that she's willing to use her Templar training to disable him if it came to it. Which leads to our next point, Leliana.'

'Right,' the Ferelden voice belonged to a woman named Leliana. 'The, apparently, ex-mercenary.'

[Name] bit her lip. "Apparently" was never a good word for someone to use about another.

Commander Cullen's weight lifted from the table, the slight clink of metal on metal making it under the door as he – she assumed – folded his arms. 'More like ex-templar.' He replied.

'Templar?' Josephine and Leliana questioned.

'Adan mentioned that her system readily took in the Lyrium, something a mercenary couldn't do. Their body would've jerked, expelled it.' He admitted. 'She's either a mage, which seems unlikely with the clothing she had. And the closest thing to a "mercenary" is an ex-Templar, trained to fight, with an intake of Lyrium.'

'We need to keep an eye on her, then.' Leliana said quietly.

[Name] frowned and turned away from the door. Already, she was alienated. But she supposed it was her own fault, for eavesdropping on the three friends as they discussed the Herald and her own origins, though she hadn't done it intentionally. She began padding her way back down the rug and towards the door, glancing back to the room she had just been in front of. Perhaps she was unwelcome here, and should move on quickly. But she had nothing but the clothing she wore for the time being. She would need work, to gather some coin for equipment.

Surely Commander Cullen would at least allow her that, and certainly the Herald of Andraste would be lenient with her if she was trying to get the rebelling mages, and a Tevinter Necromancer, on her side.

She needed what hope she could get, especially with the lack of memory she suffered from the weeks prior. Why was she being chased? Why had she been in the area? Was there some sort of slaving ring that had attempted to capture her?

[Name] snorted quietly. She knew her mind was wandering too far, but she couldn't quite help it, there was nothing to occupy her mind. She set off down the path outside the Chantry, looking for the townsfolk who resided around the Chantry, looking for someone who would be willing to give her work for a small payment. Whether it was horses, weapons, armour, alchemy, enchanting, she needed to work and she would learn what she could to provide her best assistance and make her way out of Commander Cullen's doubt.


	2. "And Hope has Fled,"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Several months have passed, Coryphaeus has attacked Haven, and everyone has retreated to Skyhold thanks to Solas. The Reader has gotten a job in the stables, grooming horses and general stable hand work; learns to braid with Solas, and meets the Inquisitor. She joins the Inquisitor on a ride, which takes them to the Hinterlands with Dorian, Cole and the Iron Bull. Commander Cullen explains he requires the Reader to write reports to him about the day’s activities before they leave for the Hinterlands.

[Name] had put in the hours when she had received a job as the stable hand while the Herald worked at getting a Stable Master. The Inquisition may have only had a few horses, but they each had their own quirks that she had come to learn of. It allowed her to enjoy the work she did, especially when it allowed her to hide from the scrutinizing eyes of Leliana and Josephine.

The two women were never quite fond of [Name] remaining within Skyhold’s reach. They distrusted her after Commander Cullen had told them what she had relayed to him of her memory. They were technically in the right, no one should trust a Coryphaeus runaway, especially when they were an ex mercenary. But it was still common courtesy not to openly stare at them when they were passing through the walls of the Chantry.

She had only wanted to speak with the Revered Mother, after all!

Buttercup stomped her hoof impatiently when [Name] had paused in brushing her coat. The mare snorted and nodded her head when the human resumed.

The mare was of Ferelden origin, a cross-breed, from what Commander Cullen had said off-handedly. She was a tall, bay mare with a little bit of roundness to her, which [Name] was putting down to the amount of hay she was consuming – Commander Cullen’s stallion was the only one in the group, and he kept him at a distance. Her mane was long, her tail sweeping. They were usually kept in intricate plaits that indicated elvish ownership. Her name was also organic, hinting that she belonged to Solas.

Buttercup lowered her head and started to gulp down the water from the trough, her black tail flicking flies away from her hind quarters. She snorted when [Name] had finished grooming her.

[Name] took a hold of the halter’s rope, gently tugging it as she stepped away from the groom post, Buttercup watching her for a moment before complying and beginning to follow after the human. ‘Good, Buttercup,’ she praised, wandering back into the stables and guiding the horse into one of the pen-like stables. ‘Home sweet home, eh, girl?’

Buttercup let out a short neigh, bobbing her head and striding into the space after [Name]. Once her halter was removed, she pressed her nose into [Name]’s hand appreciatively. Then she strolled to the trough in her stable to continue drinking. She looked strange without the braids in her gorgeous mane and tail, but [Name] didn’t have the faintest clue about how to even the simplest-looking of the elven braids.

‘I see you have returned _Limpe Kwayuln_ to her stall.’ Solas appeared beside [Name] as she leaned against the wooden fence. He watched his mare stand proudly when her rider landed his eyes upon her. Her bay coat shined under the faint streams of sunlight that filtered into the space, her hooves glistening from the oil that had been generously rubbed into them. ‘A stunning job,’ he observed. ‘Her hair is unbraided – do you not know how to braid?’

‘No,’ [Name] replied quietly, watching the horse strut towards her rider. ‘I can’t braid, but you make it look so easy when you do it, Solas.’

‘I could teach you, if you like. It would give you more things to do at the stable – save you the scrutiny of Cassandra.’

The ex-Mercenary lifted her head and looked at the Apostate mage curiously. ‘You’d be willing to teach me how to braid the elven way?’

‘I can’t teach you some of the new tangles the Dalish do, but I can show you the braids that once adorned the hair of many a princess,’ he chuckled, stepping into the stall and resting his staff to the side of the entrance. He approached his mare, who turned to her side, sweeping mane presented readily to him for his dexterous fingers. ‘Lesson one, the _de ar’ nu_.’

‘ _De ar’ nu_?’ She asked. ‘Is that just an elvish word, or does it have a Common equivalent?’

‘Literally, it translates to “Up and Under”,’ Solas replied. ‘It isn’t Dalish, it’s an ancient form of Elvish, from those who came before. But it is the simplest of braids. Humans have adapted it somewhat to achieve their own types of braids.’ He explained as he began to section the top of the hair and began weaving the strands together to achieve his desired braid. It was simple, looked intricate, despite being so easy to make. He braided as normally as a human would, but tugged little side parts outwards to show a sort of fan on the sides. ‘And that, _Falon_ , is how you complete the _de ar’ nu_. I expect to see you practicing after her next grooming.’

‘Solas,’ Cassandra stood at the entrance to the stables. ‘The Inquisitor is looking for you, she requires your aid in deciphering an elven text, and Sera does not speak it.’ She folded her arms over her breastplate, watching Solas tie off the braid, pat his mare’s withers, before picking up his staff and exiting the stall. ‘[Name], I suppose it is also time you met the Inquisitor. We can’t have you hiding in the stables for the entire time you are here.’ She nodded her head towards the steps ascending to the Great Hall.

[Name] felt her mouth and throat go dry – she had gone to lengths to avoid the Inquisitor, in case she decided that it would be better to have herself executed or imprisoned for overstaying her welcome. ‘Sure,’ she managed, dusting off her hands on her legs, sighing as she began to follow Solas out of the stables.

Skyhold was coming along nicely. Repairs were well underway, new rooms being discovered almost every day of the Inquisition’s inhabiting it. The latest room discovered was a section of the dungeons, which had a massively gaping hole torn in the side. Before that, it had been a set of barracks in the back, and the time before that was one of the rooms that was now being turned into an armoury. The place seemed endless, but well-fortified, once it was repaired. It was safe from Coryphaeus for now, so many began to call it home.

[Name] considered herself one of those who called it home, but she wouldn’t have admitted it openly. She was too scared that Leliana would get to her before the Inquisitor would’ve even have had a chance.

Cassandra guided Solas and [Name] towards the throne, which was still the original throne of those who came before, before turning left and entering Josephine’s office. ‘They are in the War Room,’ she explained. ‘The Iron Bull just finished hauling all the scrolls into the corner, Cole is also present, as is Dorian.’ The Seeker pushed open the doors hidden in the back of the office, opening a hallway to reveal the Iron Bull sitting on the ground with Krem offering him a tankard. ‘Ugh.’

‘Here you go, boss,’ Krem said as Bull took the offering. ‘Not like you to become as knackered as that. Losing your touch?’ He teased, strolling back to the door Cassandra had just opened. ‘I’ll go tell the tavern you’re coming in.’ He nodded greeting at Cassandra and Solas. Krem paused a moment when he saw [Name] awkwardly stood to the side, offering her a semi-apologetic smile. ‘Sorry about the boss. He’ll be off in a couple minutes, he won’t bite. Much.’

[Name] snorted. She’d heard of the ever-promiscuous Quanari, but she didn’t expect to be meeting him in a tired, strained state as he was. Maybe she could sneak by with Cassandra acting as her shield. She’d have rather met the infamous Quanari at his best, instead of as tired as he was. She stepped to Cassandra’s right, giving Solas a bashful smile as they made their way around the Quanari. Close to the door, however, [Name]’s shelter moved to kick at Bull’s foot. The woman didn’t wait for the hulking mass to look up, darting into the War Room with Solas quickly.

The Inquisitor looked up from the War table, a piercing blue-green gaze landing on [Name]. Her face was small, slightly rounded, faint markings tracing around the edges of her face, just under her eyes and over her lower lip. There was a twitch under her bobbed hair, pointed ears peering out. The Inquisitor was –

‘An Elf?’ [Name] asked abruptly.

The Elven Inquisitor’s lips turned upward, coyly. ‘You must be [Name]. My Commander mentioned you can be rather blunt like that.’ She replied, rising to her full height, a full head and a half shorter than the Commander at her side. ‘My name, is Alice, from the Lavellan clan in the Free Marches.’

‘A Dalish Elf?’

Alice laughed in response. ‘Yes. A Dalish Elf.’

Commander Cullen folded his arms, a cold look directed towards [Name] for her rude bluntness.  He cleared his throat, causing the Inquisitor to look up to him. ‘Solas is here, Inquisitor, perhaps it would be best to begin going over the documents with him.’

‘I will in a moment, Commander Rutherford, but please, just let me at least properly introduce myself to our guest. I’ve been rather rude to her,’ Alice turned her gaze back to [Name] smiling at her as she made her way around the table. ‘We’ll be speaking in Josephine’s office for a little bit. We’ll come back in soon, I’d just like to get to know her first.’ She placed a small hand on [Name]’s forearm, coming to be just half a head shorter than [Name]. Alice gingerly guided the ex-mercenary from the room, towards Josephine’s office.

‘I’ll begin right away,’ Solas said dutifully as he approached the table.

Alice guided [Name] into the pleasantly warm office, sitting down in a sofa just in front of the fire place. ‘So, [Name], I’ve only heard very little about you. Most of it from Leliana, and it’s not sounding too good.’

[Name] immediately cringed. ‘Yeah, Leliana isn’t very fond of me. I don’t think Cullen likes me either.’ She added. ‘Josephine seems to be the only one who doesn’t mind me as much since we got to Skyhold.’ She sat across from the Inquisitor, wringing her hands anxiously while glancing to the Inquisitor’s shimmering eyes. When she saw they weren’t the hostile gaze of a Dalish hunter, she relaxed ever so slightly. ‘Is…is that going to be a problem if I’m to stay with the Inquisition?’

‘Not at all,’ Alice replied, waving it off with a simple shrug. She turned her face towards the fire, the bright glow making the apples of her cheeks turn a little red from the warmth and her nose turn a light pink. Her ears twitched in response to the change, a smile gracing her lips. ‘It’s to be expected, really. They were the same when Cassandra brought me into the War room for the first time. They were all weary of me.’ Her eyes looked green in the warm light.

‘But you’re the Inquisitor.’

‘But I’m also an elf, a Dalish no less.’ She said. ‘I was at the Conclave, and the only one to emerge from the explosions that Coryphaeus caused.’

‘Guess that means you weren’t always the Inquisitor, huh?’

She shook her head. ‘No. When I went to the Conclave,’ she paused, carefully picking out her words. ‘I was just there to bring word to my Clan. After the explosion I-’

‘Became Inquisitor?’

‘-became the Herald of Andraste.’ She chuckled. Alice turned to face [Name] again, smiling. ‘People believed that the Mark that I had procured on my hand meant I was saved from the Fade by Andraste – that I was Andraste’s Herald, here only to close the Breach and deliver Her word.’

‘Inquisitor’s a long cry from that.’ [Name] commented.

‘Aye.’

[Name] watched the Inquisitor for a moment longer, before lifting her gaze to the fireplace and noticing a portrait hanging over the mantle. A group portrait, of the Inquisitor, and her advisors standing behind her dutifully. ‘How did they come to the Inquisition? What do they do?’

‘My advisors? They came with Cassandra, but they bicker like children sometimes. Worse than the _da’len_ back home.’ Alice chuckled as her eyes came to land on the painting. ‘Let’s start with Commander Cullen Rutherford.’

Cullen Rutherford was the leading commander of the Inquisition’s growing army, keeping each of the members trained and poised for the possibility of battle. He was an ex-Templar Knight, who witnessed the Ferelden circle fall to Abominations as the Blight took over, ten years prior, and who also served in Kirkwall under Knight-Commander Meredith. He still tore himself apart that he didn’t notice she was falling to temptation in the presence of Red Lyrium, and now that there was an army of Templar Knight’s ingesting Red Lyrium, he was almost always in a tight mood and silently blaming himself.

‘I try to ease him about it, but it doesn’t really do much considering he’s still having to deal with Alexius on a daily basis.’ The Elven Inquisitor admitted, fingers drumming across her thigh. ‘He’s judgemental, but he’s good at heart.’

Next was Josephine Montilyet, the ambassador of communications. She was well-bred, from how the Inquisitor discussed her. The woman was Antivan, but prided herself on spreading her knowledge of nobles across all of Thedas. There wasn’t a country where she didn’t have contacts. She was struggling at home, with her family’s expulsion from Orlais, though the Inquisitor had been trying to aid Josephine in regaining her strength in Orlais. It was a slow process, but it was slowly coming together. Because of it, Josephine was becoming brighter, more open with those around her – part of the reason [Name] enjoyed her company when she came by the stables.

‘She likes to talk. Just a little bit of gossip, but she knows when enough is enough.’ Alice hummed. ‘She’s close friends with Leliana, as well.’

‘Lady Nightingale.’

‘Lady Nightingale.’ Alice confirmed. ‘Our Spymaster.’

Leliana had been Divine Justinia V’s left hand, something [Name] didn’t quite understand. But what she did understand, was that Leliana had been one of the companions of the Hero of Ferelden and was there when the Arch-demon was slain. She witnessed the trials and tribulations of the Hero as she sought to fulfil what she thought the Maker had commanded her to do – though that didn’t quite work. She, according to the Inquisitor, specialized in missions to do with the Wardens, Mages and with King Alistair of Ferelden. She began the Inquisition alongside Cassandra, making her a vital part of the advisor family.

‘So why isn’t Cassandra one of your advisors?’

‘She’d rather hack and slash, I s’pose.’ Alice replied. ‘She’s always been more of a “in the field” type of person, whereas Commander Rutherford is more intent on standing back and guiding the soldiers. She said she was always chastised for being “too brash”, though.’

[Name] nodded. ‘Makes sense. She’s always so confrontational to me.’ She admitted. She rose to her feet and looked back as she heard the door to the War room open. ‘Seems someone’s come to fetch you, Your Worship. I should let you get on with your work.’

‘Ah, so it seems. Might I ask a favour?’

‘Of course.’

Alice smiled. ‘Prepare five horses. Dorian, Cole, Iron Bull and myself will be venturing to the Hinterlands tonight. I’d like for you to accompany us.’ She got to her feet and made her way towards the Commander as he came to stand in the doorway. ‘Don’t be late.’ Soon, the auburn haired, Elven Inquisitor disappeared behind Commander Cullen.

The ex-Templar Knight folded his arms as he watched her cautiously. ‘I hope you’re not getting any ideas, [Name].’ He said quietly.

‘Only following orders.’ She smiled slyly, before making her way out of the office.

It was several hours before anyone else came to see [Name] when she returned to the stables to finish grooming each of the horses. Dorian was the first to arrive and see his stallion, Stephan, a gorgeous mouse grey mount with neatly trimmed mane and tail. He had a white star upon the centre of his head.

‘I see she’s been taking good care of you again,’ Dorian said to his horse as he pulled himself into the saddle. He nudged Stephan into a slow walk, approaching [Name] as she saddled the Iron Bull’s sturdy horse, Endon, a dapple grey stallion with a short mane and tail. ‘Perhaps she’s trying to win favours?’

[Name] laughed. ‘Nah, no favours for me. Just doing as the Inquisitor asks, this time.’ She admitted, brushing off a bit of stray straw from Endon’s back. She picked up a carrot and held it out to Stephan, who eagerly bit into it before Endon took the other half. ‘She’s asked me to accompany you four tonight, on your travels to the Hinterlands. Only, I don’t have a horse.’

‘You can always ride with me, my dear.’ Dorian replied, crossing his arms as he leaned forward in the saddle, leaning on Stephan’s neck and the saddle’s front. ‘There’s always room with good ol’, handsome old, uncle Dorian.’

‘Thank you Dorian,’ [Name] waved him off, tying Endon’s reins to his stall’s hitching post, before she made her way to the next horse, Cole’s white mare, named Penny. She took a hold of the small grey saddle from the saddle rack, before she started slipping it onto the horse’s back. When she tied it beneath the horse’s stomach, she wasn’t surprised to see legs dangling from the other side of the horse. ‘Cole, off Penny. She’s not saddled properly yet.’

‘But the saddle’s sitting on her back – and she’s happy to see me and go for a ride. So why can’t I sit on her?’ He asked.

‘Because you might fall off, Kid.’ Iron Bull replied as he entered the stables. His horse stamped impatiently when the Qunari took his time to approach the horse. ‘Settle, Endon, settle. We’ll be off soon enough.’ He chuckled and petted the horse’s hind. The large Quanari set his eyes onto [Name] as she bent over again to adjust the saddle while Cole disappeared. ‘So!’

Penny stumbled at the boisterous noise that was the Iron Bull, causing [Name] to knock her head on the horse’s ribcage. ‘Ow,’ [Name] whined quietly, rising to her height and turning to face the Iron Bull. ‘Hush. Penny’s skittish in the stables, the cobble spooks her enough.’

‘Oh, right, sorry, lass.’ He replied sheepishly, rubbing his neck and grinning towards [Name] as she took a hold of Penny’s halter. He stood strong, tall next to Endon, his battle axe strapped to his back. ‘Endon’s happy enough. S’posing Stephan is too. Penny don’t look too shabby either. Where’s Breach?’

‘The Inquisitor’s horse?’

‘Yeah, boss’s horse.’

‘She’s standing out in the paddock space, saddled and ready to go.’

‘Well, not any more she’s not.’ Following the sound of the Inquisitor’s voice, came the light clopping of hooves as a shadow loomed over [Name]’s form. The Inquisitor sat upon her cremello mare, with a stunning sweeping mane that was also braided back similarly to Solas’s Buttercup. It was kept neatly out of the way of the mare’s legs, but still allowed her eyes to be protected from the harsh light and the flies. Alice sat proudly atop the mare, looking down to her companions. ‘[Name], I convinced Commander Rutherford to loan you Commander for the travel. So I suggest you saddle him quickly, Commander Rutherford will be in shortly to aid you getting his horse ready.’

The Inquisitor turned and guided her mare out, Cole, Dorian and Iron Bull following suit. Shortly after, the blond haired Commander entered the stables, not looking too happy. ‘Right.’ He said shortly, approaching the corner of the stalls. ‘Commander is trained to respond with military precision,’ he opened the stall and a cherry bay stallion emerged, head held high and mane tossed back. ‘He won’t spook easy, but he will hightail out of a dangerous situation if his rider is in danger.’

‘Well-trained,’ [Name] cut in, attempting to make small talk with the firm ex-Templar Knight. She fell quiet when Commander Cullen barely glanced her way and slung a saddle over the horse’s back. ‘Never mind.’

‘He’ll follow Breach, easily enough. Just don’t let the reins slack enough to-’

‘Get in the way of his legs, they’re tender on the front lines without their padding.’ [Name] replied. She smiled shyly when the Commander glanced to her, shrugging. ‘I do checks of the horses each morning, and each night.’ She explained.

‘I see.’ He gently put the bridal onto Commander, rubbing his neck somewhat fondly. ‘I’ll be expecting reports back from you with Leliana’s ravens.’ He said quietly. ‘Updates on the horses, on the Inquisitor and the day’s activities.’

[Name] nodded. ‘Alright. I’ll make them as detailed as I can, Commander Cullen.’

The man nodded. ‘Please do. If the Inquisitor falls on the journey to the Hinterlands, the Inquisition falls with her. There will be no hope against Coryphaeus.’


End file.
